Thanks, Nan. You captured the addictive suck of the “come here, go away” manipulation that kept me captive for a long time. The caretaking training goes so deep. I’ve been in recovery for years, but just now seeing it all again while taking care of my husband after his knee replacement: second-guessing, hovering, hating him just a little… still here just a surface scratch away.
It really is just beneath the surface, those feelings, that training. I think of them as helpful reminders, alerts that I might always need. Helps keep me in balance. The word "no" is my friend, when used appropriately. And I get to decided when that is. Thanks for reading AND commenting, Jeannine. xo
My dad frequently did that same "playful teasing", which he thought was so funny. In hindsight, I think it was closer to verbal abuse than fun. It's taken me a long time to learn not to belittle others -- I've realized I was the only one who found it humorous.
I hear you. Whenever "I was just teasing" comes out of my mouth, I hear myself and remember that it hurt when it happened to me. But it was a knee-jerk behavior for me for a long time. Dad was a great teacher. xo
Differentiation is such a liberating experience. I remember reading David Snarch’s (what a name!) book Passionate Marriage (not bc I was married or even interested in marriage) many many years ago but that word DIFFERENTIATION lit something up in me. Like, what? I can have my own feelings, and someone else can have theirs, and we can coexist even if they are in conflict?
Your dad sounds like a loving, complicated, playful, hurtful human and all of those things can be true in the same breath. What freedom you must’ve felt when you began to hear your own voice.
My therapist refers to it as individuation, something I didn’t do at the appropriate time, developmentally. I had to have my father die to get it, and I’ve just begun the process with my mother…and that’s going really well. It’s crazy to me that at 64, I’m finally there. My therapist assures me that I’m doing great, and that there are people who never get there. I’m greatly relieved and jubilant to be claiming my place in my life! xo
Tender and potent revelations, Nan. Thank you for getting this out there!
Objectively, it seems so apparent that dysfunctional relationships are almost never one-sided. (I don't want to say never, because I don't pretend to have insights into every scenario. Sometimes the powerlessness of one is so all-encompassing that it's hard to imagine there being any "responsibility" in it.) Though it started in my 30s and improved in my 40s, I never maintained what I'd consider fully mature relationships with my folks. And I continue to better understand myself and my part in the dynamic even now, long after they are both departed.
I agree, Elizabeth. I certainly was an innocent when I was a child, and so hooked into fear about being abandoned, not physically, but definitely emotionally. But then as I got older, I learned how to play on his weaknesses, but even then, I couldn't admit to or define my part in the matter. Mostly it had to do with being financially manipulative. He never said no to me when I came to him in need. But there's a double edge to that. He didn't say no, but should have to get me to take responsibility for myself, to kick me out of the nest. But I believe that that there would have been a cost to him, that he deemed too high. If he pushed me to adulthood, I wouldn't need him as much. He was just as frightened of being abandoned, but I never really understood that on a conscious level until I scrutinized the dynamics in the almost 15 years since he died. Taking responsibility for my part is the thing that is making it possible to write the memoir about us. Thanks for getting it. xo
I always appreciate reading your truths. Family dynamics/relationships can be so complicated. I'm glad your spirit is alive and well, though not without a lot of heartache and hard work. Thanks for trusting us with your stories.
I have to ask, where does Maisy generally sleep? xo
Thanks, Nancy! Yup it's been a long road, but I don't regret any of it anymore and I think a lot of that is because writing about all of this has clarified so much. I have an awful lot of gratitude for both of my parents, and see them in a more compassionate light than I used to. I never thought that would happen, I've been so angry and resentful toward both of them at times. But that's a part of the story, too.
Maisy bunks with her big brother, Hugo (older bigger, not body-size bigger) in a crate for two, with cushy beds and a memory foam mattress for support underneath. The crate is pink (what else would it be?) and even though they each have their own beds, they often sleep all curled up together in one bed. It's so sweet.
Thanks, Marilea. I get it. And mine was an individuation that had to happen for me to be myself after years of denying who I was and what my needs were. xo
Thank you for reading it, Janine. I had very little agency, so much guilt, and resentment, and I didn't know how bad it was until I started the inquiry into my history of depression, my failure at intimate relationships (though my friendships have always been strong). I've learned so much and so grateful that I found the people and practices that could help me free myself, and see my value. My life has a whole different meaning, energy, and purpose. xo
Thank you, Janine. I'm glad to be able to tell these stories from a place of balance. 10 years ago, it would have been "all their/his/her fault." I would be the victim. It took a lot to move from that position. I'm not saying that about my childhood. In childhood, I was helpless. In adulthood, I didn't quite understand that I wan't helpless, but I'd been conditioned to the dynamic he and I shared. And it wasn't just me, he was accustomed to it as well, and we both got things from it that we didn't understand, question, or move to change. I hope that made sense. I've only just had my first sip of coffee. Storytelling does heal. We don't have to be alone thinking we're the only ones. xo
Makes complete sense. That’s a great point in when you write the stories.
I’m just able to write about my son 17 years later. Plus the medium of Substack makes it more accessible.
I have so much I need to write about caring for my mom but I’m not in that ‘place of balance’ as you put it.
It’s intriguing to think about when we write memoir. Too soon and is it too close or detrimental and causes harm? Or is it necessary to write as it’s the only path to survival?
So far out that you’re the narrator looking back at the character you were? And that changes the perspective?
You have me pondering this on my first cup of tea!
For me, it wasn't just about distance. I had to do a lot of work on myself, therapy, 12-step, to help me understand what I experienced, and to finally get that I'd put my dad on a pedestal and idolized him, for so many reasons. Life is for growing. Enjoy your tea! xo
It's so hard to realize how much you molded yourself to care for the feelings of grown ass people as a child.
I was insanely codependent with my mother, and I realized that my entire life I had learned to scan a room for people's moods and behave accordingly. I was expected to regulate the emotions of adults when I could barely regulate my own. I still struggle with it -- I am good at being able to tell when someone close to me is upset/in a bad mood and my first impulse is still to fix it.
Sending love -- it is so hard to unlearn these behaviors. ❤️
Oh, I can see why you said this poured out of you. It's so honest and so hard-hitting, and such a clear-eyed delineation of how living in the shadow of another person's wants and needs can completely obliterate your own. How what feels like connection is actually a slow suffocation.
It's an honor to know you, Nan, and to know the difficult path that brought you to this beautiful place of self-awareness and confidence and joy.
Thank you, Irena. I really want to talk to you about this essay and the place it will have either in a similar form, or as just the container that holds the rest of the memoir. I'm interested to hear what you have to say. And it's an honor to know you, too, my dear new friend. xo
And isn't that just the muck of it? How complicated life is that your father's had to end for yours to begin? I so deeply appreciate the and/both here, Nan, and honor your self awareness in owning that you harmed each other. More than anything, I'm so grateful this Nan no longer feels the need to be a chameleon in order to be appreciated, loved, and seen.
Thanks, my dear Jess. The only place I enjoy chameleon colors these days are in the design work I do. The palette is beautiful in that realm. But here? It's all me. And every time I write, I learn more about myself. Love you, sweetie.
You have such deep awareness and understanding. That clarity is not easy to come by. I have felt that sense of being free (right alongside grief). You express it clearly and beautifully. I'm so glad you're in such a joyful place in your journey. x
Thank you, Wendy. I do feel free. Freer than ever before. It's quite amazing to feel free of obligation, except for my obligation to myself and the positive things I'm committing to. xo
Thank you, Eileen. I was exhausted when I recorded it last night. Been going full steam for weeks. I felt so good about writing this. I've needed to write it for a while. It came out all in one sitting, a flood of words. xo
Wow. I felt that last line in my bones. This one is right up there with the semicolon essay, my all-time favorite. In fact, that semicolon could be your divider here, and the continuation of the sentence that is now such a joy to read in the delight beaming from your eyes when you are up to MISCHIEF. It could be the volta. I love the joy you have become since then, the joy that is the strength underlying the clear-sightedness it takes to write such a beautiful essay. Oh my love, the things we think we must do for love. I chuckle to write this... but how do you ever resist those puppy eyes Maisy casts in your direction? I know. We've talked about this a lot. I like you rested and refreshed, your mind sharp, the jokes rolling, making me cry with laughter. Sorry, Maisy, you are still one of the luckiest dogs alive.
I’m not touching the crotch respect part. Nope. Not me. I like it as a thing, though. Crotch respect. As in, “that guy should have more crotch respect.” Yup. That’s an image I’m keeping.
It's true. I have two writing partners, Maisy sits snug up against me and Hugo occupies the space between my legs....just like a man, but Hugo's far more polite about it. He respects my crotch, and I respect his. xo
I love you so much, Susan. We're such good mirrors for each other. I'm so lucky to have you in my world. And thanks for teaching me the new word. I've heard "volta" before. New word days are the best! And yes, Maisy somewhat grudgingly agrees with you. She knows she's got it good (as she sits tucked in next to me as I write). I'm one of the luckiest dog moms alive. I know that, too. xo
Hi Nan
HI ABBY! Are you on Substack, now? xo
Thanks, Nan. You captured the addictive suck of the “come here, go away” manipulation that kept me captive for a long time. The caretaking training goes so deep. I’ve been in recovery for years, but just now seeing it all again while taking care of my husband after his knee replacement: second-guessing, hovering, hating him just a little… still here just a surface scratch away.
It really is just beneath the surface, those feelings, that training. I think of them as helpful reminders, alerts that I might always need. Helps keep me in balance. The word "no" is my friend, when used appropriately. And I get to decided when that is. Thanks for reading AND commenting, Jeannine. xo
Thanks for the reminder, Nan.
You betcha. xo
Whoa, this was powerful.
My dad frequently did that same "playful teasing", which he thought was so funny. In hindsight, I think it was closer to verbal abuse than fun. It's taken me a long time to learn not to belittle others -- I've realized I was the only one who found it humorous.
I hear you. Whenever "I was just teasing" comes out of my mouth, I hear myself and remember that it hurt when it happened to me. But it was a knee-jerk behavior for me for a long time. Dad was a great teacher. xo
Differentiation is such a liberating experience. I remember reading David Snarch’s (what a name!) book Passionate Marriage (not bc I was married or even interested in marriage) many many years ago but that word DIFFERENTIATION lit something up in me. Like, what? I can have my own feelings, and someone else can have theirs, and we can coexist even if they are in conflict?
Your dad sounds like a loving, complicated, playful, hurtful human and all of those things can be true in the same breath. What freedom you must’ve felt when you began to hear your own voice.
My therapist refers to it as individuation, something I didn’t do at the appropriate time, developmentally. I had to have my father die to get it, and I’ve just begun the process with my mother…and that’s going really well. It’s crazy to me that at 64, I’m finally there. My therapist assures me that I’m doing great, and that there are people who never get there. I’m greatly relieved and jubilant to be claiming my place in my life! xo
Abandoning oneself. Oy. How easily I/We/One can slip into that.
Indeed, it certainly is. xo
Tender and potent revelations, Nan. Thank you for getting this out there!
Objectively, it seems so apparent that dysfunctional relationships are almost never one-sided. (I don't want to say never, because I don't pretend to have insights into every scenario. Sometimes the powerlessness of one is so all-encompassing that it's hard to imagine there being any "responsibility" in it.) Though it started in my 30s and improved in my 40s, I never maintained what I'd consider fully mature relationships with my folks. And I continue to better understand myself and my part in the dynamic even now, long after they are both departed.
I agree, Elizabeth. I certainly was an innocent when I was a child, and so hooked into fear about being abandoned, not physically, but definitely emotionally. But then as I got older, I learned how to play on his weaknesses, but even then, I couldn't admit to or define my part in the matter. Mostly it had to do with being financially manipulative. He never said no to me when I came to him in need. But there's a double edge to that. He didn't say no, but should have to get me to take responsibility for myself, to kick me out of the nest. But I believe that that there would have been a cost to him, that he deemed too high. If he pushed me to adulthood, I wouldn't need him as much. He was just as frightened of being abandoned, but I never really understood that on a conscious level until I scrutinized the dynamics in the almost 15 years since he died. Taking responsibility for my part is the thing that is making it possible to write the memoir about us. Thanks for getting it. xo
Hi Nan,
I always appreciate reading your truths. Family dynamics/relationships can be so complicated. I'm glad your spirit is alive and well, though not without a lot of heartache and hard work. Thanks for trusting us with your stories.
I have to ask, where does Maisy generally sleep? xo
Thanks, Nancy! Yup it's been a long road, but I don't regret any of it anymore and I think a lot of that is because writing about all of this has clarified so much. I have an awful lot of gratitude for both of my parents, and see them in a more compassionate light than I used to. I never thought that would happen, I've been so angry and resentful toward both of them at times. But that's a part of the story, too.
Maisy bunks with her big brother, Hugo (older bigger, not body-size bigger) in a crate for two, with cushy beds and a memory foam mattress for support underneath. The crate is pink (what else would it be?) and even though they each have their own beds, they often sleep all curled up together in one bed. It's so sweet.
xo
Powerful. ❤️🩹
Thanks, Jodi. xo
What a wonderful heartfelt share. Reminds me of an essay I'm working on, how I lost my daughter only to find myself.
Thanks, Marilea. I get it. And mine was an individuation that had to happen for me to be myself after years of denying who I was and what my needs were. xo
Such a powerful essay, Nan. Thank you for sharing.
What resonates is how people pleasing pushes aside all sense of self-worth and sometimes agency.
Thank you for reading it, Janine. I had very little agency, so much guilt, and resentment, and I didn't know how bad it was until I started the inquiry into my history of depression, my failure at intimate relationships (though my friendships have always been strong). I've learned so much and so grateful that I found the people and practices that could help me free myself, and see my value. My life has a whole different meaning, energy, and purpose. xo
Very glad that you did. By doing so, we benefit from your words. Oh, the healing power of storytelling!
Thank you, Janine. I'm glad to be able to tell these stories from a place of balance. 10 years ago, it would have been "all their/his/her fault." I would be the victim. It took a lot to move from that position. I'm not saying that about my childhood. In childhood, I was helpless. In adulthood, I didn't quite understand that I wan't helpless, but I'd been conditioned to the dynamic he and I shared. And it wasn't just me, he was accustomed to it as well, and we both got things from it that we didn't understand, question, or move to change. I hope that made sense. I've only just had my first sip of coffee. Storytelling does heal. We don't have to be alone thinking we're the only ones. xo
Makes complete sense. That’s a great point in when you write the stories.
I’m just able to write about my son 17 years later. Plus the medium of Substack makes it more accessible.
I have so much I need to write about caring for my mom but I’m not in that ‘place of balance’ as you put it.
It’s intriguing to think about when we write memoir. Too soon and is it too close or detrimental and causes harm? Or is it necessary to write as it’s the only path to survival?
So far out that you’re the narrator looking back at the character you were? And that changes the perspective?
You have me pondering this on my first cup of tea!
For me, it wasn't just about distance. I had to do a lot of work on myself, therapy, 12-step, to help me understand what I experienced, and to finally get that I'd put my dad on a pedestal and idolized him, for so many reasons. Life is for growing. Enjoy your tea! xo
It's so hard to realize how much you molded yourself to care for the feelings of grown ass people as a child.
I was insanely codependent with my mother, and I realized that my entire life I had learned to scan a room for people's moods and behave accordingly. I was expected to regulate the emotions of adults when I could barely regulate my own. I still struggle with it -- I am good at being able to tell when someone close to me is upset/in a bad mood and my first impulse is still to fix it.
Sending love -- it is so hard to unlearn these behaviors. ❤️
I hear you, my dear. Me too. I read a room better than anyone (in my own mind, at least).
I'm not jumping to fix things so fast anymore.
Without a great therapist and ACA 12-step principles I don't think I could have changed the behavior. It's amazing to be free. xo
Oh, I can see why you said this poured out of you. It's so honest and so hard-hitting, and such a clear-eyed delineation of how living in the shadow of another person's wants and needs can completely obliterate your own. How what feels like connection is actually a slow suffocation.
It's an honor to know you, Nan, and to know the difficult path that brought you to this beautiful place of self-awareness and confidence and joy.
Thank you, Irena. I really want to talk to you about this essay and the place it will have either in a similar form, or as just the container that holds the rest of the memoir. I'm interested to hear what you have to say. And it's an honor to know you, too, my dear new friend. xo
xoxoxo
And isn't that just the muck of it? How complicated life is that your father's had to end for yours to begin? I so deeply appreciate the and/both here, Nan, and honor your self awareness in owning that you harmed each other. More than anything, I'm so grateful this Nan no longer feels the need to be a chameleon in order to be appreciated, loved, and seen.
Thanks, my dear Jess. The only place I enjoy chameleon colors these days are in the design work I do. The palette is beautiful in that realm. But here? It's all me. And every time I write, I learn more about myself. Love you, sweetie.
You have such deep awareness and understanding. That clarity is not easy to come by. I have felt that sense of being free (right alongside grief). You express it clearly and beautifully. I'm so glad you're in such a joyful place in your journey. x
Thank you, Wendy. I do feel free. Freer than ever before. It's quite amazing to feel free of obligation, except for my obligation to myself and the positive things I'm committing to. xo
Stunningly written, beautifully read.
Thank you, Eileen. I was exhausted when I recorded it last night. Been going full steam for weeks. I felt so good about writing this. I've needed to write it for a while. It came out all in one sitting, a flood of words. xo
Wow. I felt that last line in my bones. This one is right up there with the semicolon essay, my all-time favorite. In fact, that semicolon could be your divider here, and the continuation of the sentence that is now such a joy to read in the delight beaming from your eyes when you are up to MISCHIEF. It could be the volta. I love the joy you have become since then, the joy that is the strength underlying the clear-sightedness it takes to write such a beautiful essay. Oh my love, the things we think we must do for love. I chuckle to write this... but how do you ever resist those puppy eyes Maisy casts in your direction? I know. We've talked about this a lot. I like you rested and refreshed, your mind sharp, the jokes rolling, making me cry with laughter. Sorry, Maisy, you are still one of the luckiest dogs alive.
I’m not touching the crotch respect part. Nope. Not me. I like it as a thing, though. Crotch respect. As in, “that guy should have more crotch respect.” Yup. That’s an image I’m keeping.
Very wise, my dear. Because if you know me at all, you know I have stories. xo
It’s not every dog who is lucky enough to be a writing partner. Most pups wait alone all day for someone to come home and let them out.
It's true. I have two writing partners, Maisy sits snug up against me and Hugo occupies the space between my legs....just like a man, but Hugo's far more polite about it. He respects my crotch, and I respect his. xo
I love you so much, Susan. We're such good mirrors for each other. I'm so lucky to have you in my world. And thanks for teaching me the new word. I've heard "volta" before. New word days are the best! And yes, Maisy somewhat grudgingly agrees with you. She knows she's got it good (as she sits tucked in next to me as I write). I'm one of the luckiest dog moms alive. I know that, too. xo